Ruin Maketh Me

21 - The angel descends

     A man with bright green hair strides through the door, and irritation scratches at my heart with a horrible persistency. Desmond. He surveys the class, looks up, and our eyes meet. His feet halt to a stop, and his face twists in the exact way it did yesterday.
     "What are you doing here?" Those same words Ralphus asked me echo within the four walls like an accusation.
     Temple throbbing I clasp my lips and turn to Julius. It's your turn this time.
"He is my slave." Julius's voice suffuses across the space.
"So?" Desmond's eyes dance with cruel laughter, "This is my lesson young master Kade. I want him out. Now!"
A tendril of green light weaves across the air and ties itself around my ankle. No. It drags me out of my seat, over the table towards empty space. Shit, shit, shit. I'm going to fall. I grab the edge of the table with all my strength, but the green string is still pulling me backwards. Crack. The bones my hand and arm creak, they're going to break, dislocate, I can't hold on, but if I soar to the floor from this height... Desmond won't catch me.
Crack. My hand slips from the edge. I close my eyes and brace for impact. Nothing.
My eyelids blink open, I'm hanging in midair, and wrapped around my wrist is a taunt strand of purple connecting me to Julius. I swing my head back, the green light is still there around my ankle.
"Oh?" I hear amusement in Desmond's voice, "Julius Kade, you dare..."
My eyes flit from the green strand to the purple strand to Julius's imperious face. Wait. If Desmond is holding onto me with his green strand, and Julius is holding onto me with the purple strand... Fuck, I'll be quartered if either one of them pulls!
"Let go of me!" I shout at Julius.
His glowing red eyes flicker to me, impassive, still, above everyone else, and he's looking at me as if I'm worrying about nothing.
He doesn't bloody understand!
"Let go— gah!"
The green pulls taunt. My right leg snaps backwards, left arm extends to its absolute limit, and undulating pain tears through muscle and joints. Physiological tears leak from my eyes, down, down my face.
      "Let go!" I shout, pouring all tsunami urgency and desperation the wavering tone, "I'm a human, if you keep pulling, you're going to snap me in three!"
     JErk.
     Bone
              slides
                        out
                              of
                                  socket
     Crack.
     "AH!"
     Julius cocks his head. Sweat drips down my forehead. Terrifying. It's terrifying, because he doesn't look as if he understands. My chest constricts, pants leak from my mouth, don't pull.
     "Don't fucking pull!"
     A laughter erupts into the classroom. Desmond, that bastard's laughing. Why? WHY? Is he enjoying this? Is he enjoying the fact that I'm in pain? Kill you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to make y—
     The force grows, chest heaves, eyes sting with sweat and tears, pain rolls higher and higher, God, my arm, my leg.
     "Someone cut th—
     Whump!
     Gold coated silver comes shining down against the purple. Sword. Who? The purple dissolves, the pain dissolves, and I'm flying back and back. Ah, white hair, mesmerising eyes, Ralphus.
     Crash.
    Golden light envelops me, and although I'm skidding across the floor, there's no jar of pain or the breaking of bones. It disappears with a faint hiss, but I know the colour. I glance up at Ralphus. But although he cushioned me, his eyes are stone cold, and he looks like a bystander who doesn't give even one shit.
     Why?
     What the fuck's wrong with the people in this world.
     Is he scared of the consequences? But then why save me?
     "Get out." That loathsome voice spits from above.
     I look around each face, curiosity, shock, boredom, but they've all come to one result. This man's weak, I'm not going to help him. No one steps forward. No one says a word. Not even Ralphus this time. Oh, how cold it is, this world and that world, both the same.
The weak are devoured.
I struggle to my feet. I can't show any weakness. I need to stay strong. I stare up at Julius. This is your fault, do something. But he doesn't move or give me any reaction. It's like he's waiting to see what I do.
I see.
I lock my heart in the iron box of my chest, throw away the key. Emotions are pointless. Leaving now would be admitting defeat, but I have to go. I need to calm down. I need to relocate my shoulder.
I look away and take a step to the door.
Bam.
The doors swing open.
A man cloaked in black steps in. The one from the inquisition. His hooded head turns towards me, and coolness sweeps over my figure, then freezes at the sight of my arm hanging limply at my side.
"What is happening here Professor Marx?" The man's voice is just as softly commanding as before.
"Ah, you see," Desmond stutters, voice now painfully small and jagged, "You se—
"What should I see?" The man demands rather than asks, "He's injured." He takes a step forward, black robe swinging with his stride and places a beautifully fine hand on my head.
     "The boy should no—
     "The Academy gave him to me, not you." He interrupts, sliding his hand down my hair, my neck to the small of my back, "Or do I need to remind you?" His voice suddenly quietens.
     "No-no, do what you wish."
    "Good." The man whispers, curling his slender fingers around my right wrist loosely, "Let us leave this vulgar place." He says caressingly towards me.
     I do not move my gaze from the darkness of his hood, "Yes."
     And that was all it took, just one easy word, to step away from this place without admitting absolute defeat. He grasped my wrist firmer, lead me out towards the open door. From the corner of my vision, I see Julius Kade standing up, raven wing hair splicing the air around him, a sign telling me I'm not allowed to go.
     The man's hooded head moves the slightest fraction, their eyes meet, and something coldly vicious burns between them, but the man does not stop and his hold on my arm does not loosen. I do not stop either, and so Julius passes out of sight, and the door shuts behind us with a slam.

                                                                           -

AN: Had a horrible time writing this chapter.